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Page 222
their horses in the brush. The sound held no interest for her; she strained forward, watching the raches making little rushes forward and then retreating, yelping all the while. The larger dogs made more determined rushes, leaping and slashing. One, grown too bold, fastened his teeth in a bristly shoulder for one instant. The boar's head swung; three-inch tusks flashed; the dog screamed and fell away.
The beast had chosen well, either by knowledge or accident. No man was willing to denigrate the intelligence of the great, wild boars. Where a large old oak had fallen, there was a tiny clearing. In the angle between the huge trunk and the upraised roots, the monster stood at bay. Blood now stained the slaver from his jaws, and he uttered a coughing sound that was more roar than squeal. There was no terror in the little red pig eyes, only rage. Mouth open to tear, he shook his enormous head, flinging spume across the clearing and onto the bellowing hounds.
Among them there was also no fear. "Hold him, children, hold him," Alinor shrieked, wild with excitement. She did not think the dogs needed encouragement; she only needed to cry aloud.
The men had now ringed the clearing, dropping to one knee with the butt of the boar spears resting on the ground and the points angled up to about 20 inches. The earth would take most of the shock of the animal's charge. This time the men were fairly close together because the open area was small, but even if they had been more widely spaced, it would not have mattered. It was very rare for a boar to run between the hunters to try to escape. The instinct of this animal was to attack. Nor was it usually necessary for the huntsmen to prod the beast. The irritation created by the yelping, charging dogs and the shouting men was enough to enrage a boar into charging.
The signs were on the beast now. He shook his head and snorted, tore at the ground with his sharp hooves.

 
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